Sponsor the Killer
by adjourn
Summary: Power is only entrusted to the person who dares to bend down and pick it up. OC
1. i

Note: So, this fic kind of leapt out of nowhere and, in a sudden bout of inspiration, I wrote a few chapters and thought up a nebulous long-term plot. It's another reincarnation Naruto OC fic, but definitely not a self-insert. Although, the protagonist is heavily influenced by a number of people I know in real life. Honestly, this story is purely self-indulgence **,** but I hope you enjoy it anyway. I welcome feedback and constructive criticism. Thanks!

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 **Sponsor the Killer**

i.

 _"This is your life and it's ending one minute at a time."_

 _._

The American education system does a decent job of warning kids about the dangers of drunk driving. Far before the young and innocent are even aware of alcohol's effects, teachers drill "don't drink and drive" into their minds. In high school, the message is blasted through Red Ribbon Weeks, field trips to the city court and ghastly videos that feature spilled intestines and half-peeled faces. And if the constant scare tactics and lectures weren't enough to convince you, the stories of dead students and tragic car accidents near the school from just a few years back were. So most people at my school were adamant about not drinking and driving; the one kid who made a habit of it was known to everyone, and not in a positive light. Yet even with all the dangers, the social stigma, and the resources like Uber made available to drunk teenagers, I still got behind the wheel one night, four shots in. Because, hey, if I could drive well high, I could definitely do it drunk, right?

And I was right, to a degree. Other than nearly swerving into a tree, I got home safely that night.

Only to be killed a drunk driver four days later. Instant karma's gonna get you.

So where does that leave me?

Well, honestly, I didn't end up too bad, other than the whole dying part. I guess that's why it's more instant karma than the long-term thing — you see, I was kind of an asshole in my previous life. With my circumstances, it was hard not to be: extremely privileged, a highly regarded athlete, recruited to an Ivy, had a hot girlfriend that I cheated on with three other girls, lots of drunken shenanigans, the works. I mean, I wasn't a bully or anything. I mostly tried my best to be nice to everyone. It was just the moral shit that didn't swing well with me. Cheating, lying, stealing, and of course, various sins against the church. So yeah, if long-term karma and God had their way, I probably would be in a way shittier situation than I am now.

As it is, things are pretty great. I'm reincarnated, still the same gender, and my new family seems to be fairly wealthy, if the thread count of the sheets in this crib are anything to go by. Yeah, the only part that isn't great is that I'm stuck in the body of a fucking infant.

"Blah, blah, blah," a sweet-faced lady, presumably my mother, coos as she scoops me up in her arms.

Also, I don't know Japanese. That blows.

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.

.

As it turns out, Japanese isn't a wildly difficult language to learn. It's far easier than Chinese, that's for sure, which I took for language credits with a few of my rugby buddies. I nearly got a D in that class both semesters. To this day, the only Chinese phrases I know are "Hello," "Thanks," "My name is," and "I'd like to order sweet and sour soup." Good shit.

Anyway, I'm not great at languages. Japanese isn't particularly hard, but it still took me a long-ass time to become fluent in. I only started fully comprehending it at 5, and that was with a lot of prior reading and writing practice. Like, a lot. Being a toddler is real dull. I didn't bother pretending to be engaged in stupid baby toys, and I sure as hell was not interested in playing with other gross children. There was no television around to occupy me, since apparently I was reborn into the feudal era or some crap, so I had nothing to do besides run around by myself, struggle through assorted Japanese books, and practice calligraphy. My parents, at least, were pleased with the latter two. They didn't appreciate my shunning of the other children, but they were satisfied with my affinity toward academics. Which, a bizarre 180 for me. But you try being stuck in a Japanese desertland without an iPhone or football in sight.

Speaking of parents, that sweet-faced lady from earlier? Not my mom. That woman is my governess, more or less. She tutors me, "plays" with me, and takes me around town. My actual mother is a frosty bitch who I have interacted with a total of 16 times for more than 2 minutes in the past 5 years. Besides breastfeeding. But I try to forget that period of my life.

My mother isn't a very nice lady (or at least not a very good maternal figure), and my father isn't much better. He's a politician of some sort, and has the stereotypical "firm, cold father with high expectations and not much else" thing down to a T. Since I'm the heir apparent of our mighty noble family, he's forced to interact with me a little more than my mother — mainly to give me lectures about the importance of upholding our family's name and honor, making connections with the right people, and whatever the fuck else. I tend to tune him out. I can't understand half of what he's saying most of the time anyway. Also, why is he saying all this to a small child in the first place? Are 5-year-olds expected to comprehend politics in this universe?

So, yeah, my relationship with my parents isn't great. I'd like to say this matters to me at all, but it really doesn't. I wasn't on great terms with my folks back in my previous life either. Can't say why. Teenage rebellion, all that jazz, maybe.

(Actually, I can say why. It's because they wanted the next Steve Jobs, and instead they ended up with a gorilla-brained jock who could barely scrape a B in Algebra II. And to that I say: fuck you Mom and Dad, I still got into Yale, and I could beat up Steve Jobs. If he wasn't, uh, dead from pancreatic cancer. God bless his soul.)

My governess, Rio, is the real homie. She's raised me, and is literally the nicest person I have ever met. Including my old girlfriend, who was so nice she forgave me for cheating on her. Or maybe she just had such low self-esteem that she clung onto our relationship for fear of never being able to do better. Which I probably didn't help by cheating on her again, and again, and again, and then persuading her to stay with me.

Eh. The past is the past. Back to the present.

I stopped the little recap session at age 5 for a reason, other than the fact that I'm finally fluent in Japanese and communication isn't a huge pain the ass anymore. Actually no. That's the only reason. This is a story told mostly in present tense, after all. It's not like I know what's going to happen.

So, set the scene. Rio and I are strolling through the streets of Sunagakure, my humble desert hometown. We're on our way to the park, and I'm cradling a custom-made football in my arms. I drew out the design a few weeks ago and requested it be made for my 5th birthday. Benefits of being rich.

"Could you explain the rules again, Kazuo-dono?" Rio asks, glancing curiously at the football for the umpteenth time.

"Eh, forget about the rules. There's only two of us, so we can't play the game anyway. Plus, there's no nice grassy field in this shriveled up ballsack of a city," I add under my breath. In English. I don't know how to say "ballsack" in Japanese yet.

"What will we do, then?"

"Play catch."

Rio blinks, surprised. "But you've never wanted to play catch before."

"Well, I never had a football before. Or a baseball. I should get one of those made too."

"Baseball? Oh, I've heard of that. It's more popular in other regions."

I stop abruptly in my tracks and stare at her. "Hold up. Baseball is a real sport here? You guys have — er, what I mean to say is … I could have been playing baseball this whole time?"

"You can still play, Kazuo-dono. We could order the necessary equipment," Rio offers kindly. She doesn't remark upon my strange slip, having gotten used to it by now. Yep, Rio isn't the sharpest knife in the drawer, which is another reason I like her. Plenty of other people probably would've picked up that something's very off about me, and that would be a huge pain in the ass.

I shake my head and continue our path to the park. "Ugh. Let's talk about it later, or I'm going to get bummed out thinking about all these wasted years reading books."

"Reading isn't a waste, Kazuo-dono," Rio says.

"Shhh. Yes. Yes it is."

We make it the rest of the way to the park without incident. I tell Rio to "go long," to which she makes a confused expression, so I elaborate that she should stand some distance away. She walks about 10 feet away.

"Further," I insist. 20 feet. "C'mon, go suuuper far." 30 feet. Good enough.

I actually have another goal for coming out here besides just playing catch. I'm going to test out my superpowers. Right, right, I sound insane. But for real, I'm 80 percent sure I have superhuman abilities. About a year ago, I started noticing an odd energy present in my core. It was like that curling warmth I sometimes felt in my abdomen while high, hot enough to be uncomfortable if you focused on it, but an otherwise unremarkable sensation. Except this wasn't just a mild hallucination. This was tangible. And if I really focused, did some zen meditation shit, I could feel that heat tingling throughout the rest of my body.

Upon making this discovery, I did what any self-respecting teenager stuck in a child's body would do: I tried to use this energy to move objects with my mind. Let's be real. Telekinesis is everyone's secret dream.

Unfortunately, that didn't work out. But after much trial and error, I found I could reverse-Spiderman things and make them stick to me, defying gravity. And if I concentrated energy to my muscles, it multiplied that area's strength by a fuckton. The thing is, I had only conducted these experiments when other people weren't around. So I'm not completely sure I'm not crazy — hence, football test. If little 5-year-old me can throw Stewie's head 30 feet to Riowhile doing the energy trick, I 100 percent have superpowers.

Fingers crossed.

"Fore!" I shout as I heave the ball in Rio's direction. The warmth wraps around my arm, then dissipates.

And the football flies about five feet, then bounces off sideways. I scuttle after it, cursing.

"Should I come closer…?" Rio calls politely.

"No!" to her. Then, in English, I mutter: "Just performance anxiety, man. A real mood-killer."

"What was that, Kazuo-dono?"

"Just be ready to catch."

Alright, here we go again. Concentrate that energy not just in your arm, but your shoulder and sides, too. I got this. I arrange my hand into the perfect grip. Or as close as my tiny hand can get. And then, the ball releases from my fingertips — holy shit.

The football soars into the air with the force of a thousand cannons and rockets straight past Rio, who, wide-eyed, whips her head around to watch its insane trajectory.

"Yes! Holy fuck, yes!" I cheer, eyes glued to my glorious success. But, wait. Oh no. The ball is hurtling straight toward another child, chilling by himself on the other side of the park. Oh god. I'm about to commit involuntary manslaughter via football. I scream frantically, "Fore! Fore, for the love of God, watch out!"

Luckily (for him, not for me), before the speedy leather object of doom can take off the boy's head, a wave of sand swoops up and crushes the ball into smithereens. I whimper. That was a quality football.

Rio, too, is whimpering, but it seems to be out of exaggerated fear rather than grief. And rather than going up to the kid and apologizing for her ward's actions like a responsible adult would, she hastily backs up until she's standing beside me. It's very unlike her.

"Kazuo-dono, we have to go now," she says, grabbing my wrist and beginning to bodily drag me out of the park.

"Whoa, wait a second. Shouldn't I, or you, or we, go say sorry to him? I did almost just destroy his face with that," I protest. Because hey, I'm a nice guy. I know when I'm in the wrong. Even if he did crush my football. With … sand superpowers? Man, are superpowers just a thing in this world? I guess I'm not that special after all.

"For your safety, we must leave. And quickly." And then she forces me to literally sprint away, because if I resisted she would have dislocated my fucking shoulder by pulling me along so forcefully.

"Ow, ow, okay lady, I'm running," I huff. As we go, I turn back over my shoulder and catch one last glimpse of the kid: a redhead with sickly pale skin and the deepest dark circles I have ever seen on a human being…

And suddenly, things click.

"Oh my god," I say, half out-of-breath. "I'm the biggest fucking idiot in the world."

I've been reborn into Naruto.

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End note: I actually do know a football/baseball player who loves Naruto and cheated on his girlfriend with multiple girls at once, lol. Aside from the latter fact, he's quite nice.


	2. ii

Note: I usually won't update this fast, but since I have this written already, might as well post.

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ii.

 _"The world is built by killers. So you better get used to looking at them."_

.

In my defense, in my admittedly weak defense, one does not usually assume that they have been reborn into a fictional world. And there weren't that many clues. My father, after all, never once said "Kazekage," which might have clued me in sooner. He just refers to him "Rasa-sama." And Rio doesn't talk to me about anything of import, and my mother just doesn't talk to me period, and … those are really the only people I ever interact with. And all the history books I've read that discuss shinobi and whatnot, I just assumed they meant regular ninjas. Like, without the whole Naruto aspect. Plus, I don't really see ninja around ever. In the anime it seemed like shinobi just strolled around town quite often, but maybe that's just Konoha. Or maybe I just don't go to areas where they would be many of them; children's parks, I imagine, are not a fan favorite for ninjas.

As for living in Sunagakure, whose name I definitely should have recognized — I have no excuse. I'm just dumb. But man, everything makes so much sense now. My "energy" is just plain old chakra, and all the stuff my father talked about upholding the family honor meant he wants me to become a ninja. And also, a Suna councilmember.

"This is very weird," I say into my pillow. The anime that I used to watch while blitzed, or running on my treadmill, or on adultswim when I was 12, is now the world I'm living in. So fucking weird.

Also, let it be noted, totally fucking sweet.

"I'm going to become a ninja," I whisper in awe. I sit up abruptly in bed, resolve coiling in my gut alongside my chakra. "I'm going to be a badass fucking ninja."

I stay up the rest of the night, planning the course I'll take to domination.

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.

Due to my late night enthusiasm, I sleep through the morning. So the next afternoon, I begin my plan. I eat a healthy snack and then go out to the backyard to do some strength and flexibility exercises. In my past life, I was well-acquainted with working out and the general state of athleticism due to my devotion to a number of sports teams, so I have the knowledge and discipline to create a physical regimen for myself. Obviously, I'm not planning to do heavy lifting or anything as a 5-year-old (because I'm pretty sure that has the potential to be very damaging), but it's good to get a head start on being physically fit. Stretching, too, I'm focusing on. I was incredibly stiff before.

As I jog laps around the backyard, Rio comes out with a glass of iced tea.

"Don't tire yourself out, Kazuo-dono," she says. "Take a break?"

Lady, you're great and all, but this guy's got some ninja training to do. I keep jogging. After a few minutes, Rio sighs, sets the tea on a patio table and goes inside again.

Post-exercise is meditation time. It's a cooldown to the cooldown, of sorts, and the audible thump of my heart helps me track the chakra flowing through my vein-tenketsu things. Once my breathing has evened out, I practice sticking rocks to my skin. Chakra control, fuckers. This shit is easy. All I have to do is concentrate the smallest bit of energy to an area and bam. Gravity defier. Isaac Newton is my bitch.

This gets me thinking: Why is it that the natural state of chakra is "sticky"? Or am I subconsciously attributing an adhesive quality to it? If so, does that mean I could attribute different qualities? Have I already? The idea of reinforcing muscle strength with chakra could just be attributing "physical strength" to the chakra, so that it enhances my existing capability. Is that how people breathe fire in Naruto? You just attribute a fiery quality to that chakra? But it seems like the various elements come more easily to some than others. So some people are more attuned to certain attributes, while generic attributes are accessible to all… But didn't that one slug lady have super strength, yet almost no one else did the same thing? No, wait, they would have to to some extent. Otherwise, how can ninja so easily leap three stories in the air.

Ugh. This is exhausting.

"Kazuo-dono, dinner is ready," Rio calls from the kitchen.

Perfect timing, Rio. I need a break from all this thinking.

We eat together at the needlessly large dining table. Converse to the language we speak, Suna's food is not really Japanese; it more resembles a blend of Indian and Persian food, with the exception of Japanese desserts. Yeah, I don't get it either. I also don't get the racial makeup of this place; Gaara and his family seem to be white, maybe a quarter East Asian, while many others have more Middle Eastern features. No one is straight up Japanese. I myself am an adorable, dark-skinned cross between some East Asian and Indian, maybe Arabian. Which makes sense, since my mother is very brown and my father is faintly Chinese.

"You're working very hard today," Rio comments. She's a blonde woman with a pretty face, even in her middle age. Physically, she resembles my original mother quite a bit.

"Mmf mm," I say, mouth full of rice. I chew vigorously, swallow, and take a swig of water. "That's correct, Rio-san. No pain, no gain."

Rio takes a dainty bite of her meal. She seems to be steeling herself. After some hesitation, she asks, "Do you feel unsafe because of yesterday? Is that why you're training?"

Ah, yes. Our fateful meeting with … um, actually, I don't remember his name. Began with a G, I think.

"That must be it," I say, seeing this as an easy explanation for my behavior. "It's good to be strong enough to protect myself."

"Of course. And I'm sure your father will be very pleased at your interest in training." Rio smiles kindly. "I just don't want you to be scared. You know you're very safe, right? As long as you stay away from that monster."

"Monster? What's wrong with him, Rio-san?" I play innocent.

"There's a demon sealed inside of him, and it took over the boy's soul. There's nothing left but that demon now," Rio says. It's a little disturbing, how gently she says it. How absolutely she believes in it. "He's a soulless monster, and a killer. Stay away."

Christ. This poor fucking kid. Talk about a self-fulfilling prophecy. Or something to that extent.

"Okay, Rio-san. One last question, though. What's his name?"

"Monsters don't deserve names," Rio says.

I resist the urge to roll my eyes. No, wait, I don't. I just do it. "Okay, but really. What's his name?" Seriously, woman, spit it out.

"Gaara. Kazekage-sama's son."

Oh, right, I remember now. Gaara of the Desert. The insane jinchuriki of the Ichibi, Shukaku, who terrorizes Suna's populace to the point that his own father attempts to assassinate him multiple times. The village's greatest weapon gone horribly wrong. What was the problem again? A fucked-up seal?

"Hm. Thanks for lunch, Rio-san. I'm going to go to my room and study now."

A seal, huh?

"Ah, Rio-san. Do we have any books on fuinjutsu?"

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.

.

As the universe would happen to have it, fuinjutsu is absurdly complicated. Sealing is some calculus, quantum mechanics, string theory and other fancy-sounding complicated topics shit. I could barely comprehend the book Rio-san provided me: An Introduction to the Art of Sealing. Admittedly, I am 5. Also admittedly, I am an 18-year-old stuck in a 5-year-old's body. So I'm not really gonna cut myself any slack here.

Despite my earlier condemnation of books and the general pastime of reading, I've now come to terms with the fact that I have a lot of studying in store for me. There's an infinite amount I don't know about chakra, and I want to be sure I'm using it correctly. I also want to find out the details of its other functions: ninjutsu, genjutsu, etc. And I'm assuming those have more theory behind them than just "make energy sticky."

I pluck a cake pop into my mouth, chewing contemplatively. So glad those exist here.

"Rio-san. Is there anyone we can hire to tutor me?" I say.

Rio looks hurt.

"Like a ninja tutor, I mean. You're great for the other stuff," I elaborate. She instructs me in history, language, maths, and bits of fundamental biological science. Although, I'm not sure Rio can teach me calculus once we've moved past the Algebra I material we're currently speeding through. This math thing is a lot easier when you've already spent a year on it. But yeah, I have serious doubts about my ability to pick up calculus. Whenever I caught a glimpse of all those Calc III kids' homework, it was just a jumble of Greek letters and symbols and graphs. Who invented that shit, anyway? For that matter, did calculus even exist in this universe? I feel like ninjas wouldn't have any practical use for it.

"A ninja? I suppose your father could hire a chunin or jonin to mentor you. Is there any specialized area you're interested in?" Rio says thoughtfully. "We have a few kenjutsu specialists. Or we could request a medical-nin. Ah, and of course Chiyo-sama is the resident fuinjutsu expert."

"Chiyo-sama?" That sounds familiar. "Who's that?"

"I'm surprised your father hasn't told you. Her and her brother Ebizo-sama make up the Honored Siblings, two of the wisest shinobi Suna has ever produced." A worshipful glint shines in Rio's green eyes. "Aside from your father, of course."

I forgot to mention Rio's utterly disgusting crush on my dick of a dad. She does a terrible job of hiding it; whenever he walks into the room, all her body language screams "take me!" — ick.

"I want Chiyo-sama, then. If she's the only one who knows fuinjutsu," I say.

"Ah, her and her brother are no longer involved in village affairs, Kazuo-dono. I don't know if she'll be available to tutor you," Rio backtracks.

"Asking couldn't hurt though," I persist. "Will my father be at breakfast tomorrow? I'll talk to him then."

Rio nods, resigned to my obstinacy. "He will. Your mother, too, is returning from her trip to Takigakure later tonight."

Yippee. A loving family meal to look forward to.

"Now, Kazuo-dono, have you finished your maths homework yet?"

"Yeah, yeah, here it is." I slide the worksheet over to her. The single-variable calculations we're on are a breeze. I've considered slowing down the rate at which I "learn" things, but I think I would die of boredom. At this point, I'd much rather be actually learning trigonometry, which I struggled with in high school, than doing pointless basic equations.

Rio-san goes through and marks my homework with a red pen. A weird thing about this universe is that it is at once very old-fashioned and modern. Certain inventions, like ballpoint pens and walkie-talkies, exist, while other technology is completely unheard of.

"Just one wrong this time," Rio says proudly. "You're a young genius, Kazuo-dono. It's no wonder your father is always boasting about you to the other council members."

"Is he?" That's a surprise. I lowkey thought the dude hated me.

"Oh yes. Haven't you heard them talking during dinner parties? They're all quite impressed with you."

I shrug and move onto a multiple choice history quiz. "Can't say I really listen to them. They're boring."

"Kazuo-dono," Rio says admonishingly.

"What? You know it's true."

"If you're going to be a council member like your father, you'll have to learn to speak a bit more tactfully."

"I thought you just had to be a really good ninja. Who needs tact?" I snort. Tact is for pussies and people who respect authority, i.e. still pussies.

"Politics involves far more than that," Rio says, but her tone lets me know she's already given up on the argument.

"Sure, whatever." I hand her the history quiz, having completed it in under two minutes. The work she gives me is ridiculously easy for my 18-year-old mind. "Here, Rio-san, I'm finished. Can I go outside now?"

"It's dark, Kazuo-dono. And I thought you wanted to read more about sealing."

"Too difficult to learn on my own." I give her a winning smile. "Can I please go outside? Just for a little while. I'll stay in the front yard."

Rio sighs. "Alright. Don't wander off. I'll be down in a few minutes, once I finish grading and cleaning up."

"Thanks, Rio-san." I flounce over to the door. "And don't bother grading — I got everything right."

.

.

.

I do make a semblance of an attempt to stay in the front yard. For about 30 seconds. But now that I'm aware I'm in the Naruto world, I want to explore this place, maybe see a ninja with my own two eyes. So I stroll leisurely toward the central part of town, where there's bound to be the hustle and bustle of evening in the marketplace and restaurants. Ninjas have to eat, right?

Okay, so, this is a pretty stupid decision. A pretty 5-year-old boy wandering the streets alone at night is never a good idea. But with my chakra-charged super strength, I feel semi-equipped to defend myself against ordinary civilian kidnappers, should they exist in this ninja-saturated city, and the actual ninja of this village probably aren't going to go about committing crimes. As for the threat of Gaara, the law of averages, or some other statistical rule, means I'm unlikely to run into him again so soon in a city the size of … however big this place is. Pretty big, I'm hoping.

So off I go, cheerily trotting along the dusty streets of Suna. There's a mild sandstorm brewing in the air, and I pull my white shirt over my nose to shield myself from the tiny grains flittering about. Many others around me have more effective face masks, sporting the white hoods of stereotypical desert travellers lugging camels around. I have one of those, too, but not the foresight to bring it with me. Oh well.

It's dark out, and the air is chilly. The sky, free of mankind's industrial pollution, is a sea of speckled, luminous white across a broad stroke of deep purple. Even after five years of living in this world, it's still a sight to see.

Just kidding. I'm pretty damn desensitized to that sparkly shit. After a brief glance upward at the moon, I return my gaze to the beautiful architecture of Sunagakure.

In case you didn't catch it, that was sarcastic. This city is ugly as fuck; the texture of the buildings looks like someone shit all over an avocado skin and then left it out to dry for 20 years. The buildings themselves are all various gross lumps. Whoever designed them is really bad at shaping cylinders. Or rectangles. Or any other normal prism. Suna is like one of those ancient villages made of crappy adobe houses, only the size of everything is multiplied by 10. The only remotely nice-looking building is the greenhouse, made of glass, and only medical-nin are allowed inside there. It's also presumably the only building in this hellhole that has air conditioning. The rest of us just have to suffer the horrid desert heat.

"Hey kid, what are you doing out at night all by yourself?" A navy-haired man with a real suspicious goatee steps out of the shadows, directly blocking my path. We're in a residential block, so I'm not too worried even though we're only the two people on the street. Someone is bound to investigate if he wants in my no-no zone and I start screaming bloody murder.

"Mind your own business, weirdo," I say, taking a deliberate step back. "What are you doing creeping on little boys?"

The man fixes me with a stern look, unamused. "I'm a shinobi. I'm merely on patrol, looking out for the citizens of this village. And that includes idiot little boys who wander the streets alone at night."

I give him a quick once-over: Indeed, he's sporting a Suna headband around his left bicep and a shuriken pouch at his hip. Seems legit. So, my first encounter with a ninja (other than my father). Sign me the fuck up.

"Ah, is that so? Well, it's an honor to meet you then, shinobi-san." I offer my brightest, cutest smile. "I meant no offense."

"Right," he says, clearly unimpressed by my new sycophantic demeanor. "I'm going to take you home, then. There is a curfew to abide by."

"Really? I didn't know. What time is that? And why does a ninja village have a curfew? Is the curfew just for minors? What constitutes a minor?" I ask, rapid-fire.

"9:00 p.m. There are dangers, even in a ninja village, and particularly with the presence of Suna's jinchuriki. Curfew applies only to minors, the formal definition of such being persons under the age of 18 with the exception of ninja, who are for the most part considered legal adults," he answers without missing a beat. "Is that all?"

"I guess. For now," I relent. "I'll go home now."

"I'll escort you."

"Ooh, like an unofficial mission." We begin walking back in the direction of my house. It's more of an estate, really, since my mother owns a major trading company and can afford an extravagantly large plot of land. Even if it's pointless, since it's just more dirt.

"So, shinobi-san, do you make a habit of escorting every kid you find on the street home?" I say after a few moments.

He remains stoic and silent. I sigh. "Fine. I'll just answer my own question. You couldn't possibly do that; it'd be a waste of time if you really were out on patrol. So either there's a real threat out here tonight, or you know who my parents are. Which one is it?"

The man makes a brief, acknowledging sound. "You're rather smart for your age. It seems the rumors of the Suzukis' son are true." The way he speaks is very matter-of-fact, but not quite cold. It's a bit nice to listen to.

"Rumors? How exciting. I'm a celebrity," I say dryly. It actually is pretty exciting. Being known as a budding genius to the village's most powerful men and even a portion of the ninja populace is fucking rad. And if my reputation is due to a bit of reincarnation-style cheating, who's counting?

We walk on, once more in silence. I occasionally sneak glimpses of the ninja's face, trying to remember if he was an important canon character. Or just a canon character at all. It seems his features are faintly familiar, but it could definitely be me projecting my hopes of meeting someone of significance in the Naruto universe. After a minute of thinking (so sue me, I'm not very patient), I just come right out and ask him.

"Ne, shinobi-san, what's your name?"

Unfortunately, that's when he decides to pick me up, slap a hand over my mouth and go leaping up on a rooftop. I flail wildly in his arms, shrieks muffled by his palm, suddenly terrified that I'm about to be kidnapped and/or raped. Oh god, why did I think that ninja were all good guys? They're murderers, for God's sake. I'm a fucking dumbass.

"Hnnh mm mmf," I scream.

"Quiet," he hisses. "Stay still, and don't make another sound."

His tone is so intense that I immediately obey. The two of us stay there, frozen, lurking in the shadow of a structure on the roof. After a few moments, he leans around the corner of the misshapen clay dome (I really have no idea what it is) to peer at a scene going on in the street. It occurs to me that we're hiding, and I'm not going to be kidnapped. On the other hand, I very well might die instead.

Because standing in the dusty Suna street with murderous tendrils of sand surrounding him is none other than Gaara. And he's looking right at us.

Well, shit. Statistics can kiss my fucking ass.

* * *

End note: Yura actually is a canon character, though Kazuo wouldn't know that since he's not super significant. Look him up only if you want potential spoilers! Thanks for reading.


	3. iii

iii.

" _And we could have everything and every day we make it more impossible."_

.

The great thing about being reborn into an anime is that the world sometimes doesn't follow the rules of reality. By that, I mean certain tropey things will occur simply by virtue of the fact that they are canonical events, no matter how absurd. And since my existence hasn't horrifically fucked up Naruto's original story, mystery ninja and I can gratefully say hello to deus ex machina: assassin.

Before Gaara can turn the force of his bloodthirsty sand on us, a man in black descends from above and begins a brutal assault against the little boy. The dude is seriously going all out: explosives and all, even in the middle of the village. You'd think assassins would be a little more lowkey. And if my faint memory of Gaara's history is correct, isn't he hired by the Kazekage? Guy could stand do less property damage to his village. I hope no one was in the house that just got partially destroyed.

"We'll use this opportunity to leave," the shinobi, still holding me, says.

"What? No. This is so cool. We can stay just a little longer," I argue, eyes glued to the scene.

It's rather fascinating to watch the way he nimbly dodges Gaara's strikes, the way his movements blur with speed as he dashes about. This is the agility of a ninja; Olympic athletes would bow down.

"You must be suicidal."

"A weird thing to say to a 5-year-old, don't you think — whoa, hey!" I yelp as the man carries me off away from the battle, effortlessly jumping from rooftop to rooftop. I squirm in his grip. "Nooo, that was so cool. Ugh. You suck."

If I squint, I can see the last few moments of the battle playing out, since we're actually just making a wide circle around Gaara in order to get to my house (Is it strange that this guy knows where I live? To be honest, not really. The "wealthy people neighborhood" would be an easy guess). The faceless assassin is no longer so faceless; she's a brown-haired woman, delicate features marred by blood. Gaara stands over her body, sand swirling angrily around him. And he's … crying?

Well, I suppose I would be pretty upset if someone had tried to kill me, too. But I'm pretty sure Gaara is supposed to be an emotionless monster at this point.

Unless this is before that.

I don't get to see any more of the scene, but the resounding sound of an explosion in this distance confirms my theory: that woman was Gaara's uncle, who tried to murder him, blew himself up in a suicide mission, and caused Gaara to turn into a sociopathic freak of nature.

We've arrived in front of my home. The ninja sets me down, and I look up at him, trembling with what must seem like fear.

"Shinobi-san, do you know what just happened?" I say, grinning madly.

He doesn't say anything; I don't wait for him to answer.

"We just witnessed the birth of a monster."

 **.**

 **.**

 **.**

I go to bed that night thinking about Gaara. His past, his future, his immense suffering … the kid's life sucks. Tremendously. Now, I never took an ethics class in my past life (not that I had the chance to, since those aren't offered in high school), and I never really was one to follow the virtues of my family's Catholic faith, and overall I was fairly uninterested in adhering to moral principles, and where was I going with this? Oh, right. Gaara. Yeah, I want to help him out. A mixture of pity, self-preservation and interest in his status as a prominent Naruto character leads me to the decision that I'm going to fix that kid's seal. I mean, I kind of already made that decision earlier. But this incident has really reaffirmed it. I'm doubly motivated to snag the Chiyo lady as a fuinjutsu teacher.

I sleep and dream of pentagram seals.

The next morning, I get up 30 minutes late. I hasten to get dressed and head down for breakfast so I can talk to my father about a shinobi mentor. But as I do so, I realize something is very wrong. I haven't seen Rio since I first left the house last night. She slipped my mind in all the excitement, yet I can't dismiss the fact that she didn't give me a wake-up call as usual. Maybe she overslept? Or forgot? Or was too busy prepping the meal? It's possible.

With a growing sense of unease, I head downstairs.

My mother and father are both in the kitchen, sitting at the bar as they leaf through their separate paperwork. My mother is drinking some fruity cocktail even though it's 9 a.m. I am unsurprised.

"Good morning," I say. "Have you seen Rio-san?"

My mother frowns. "Not even a welcome home for your dear mother? I've been gone a month."

"Welcome home, dear mother," I say. She nods, satisfied, and goes back to reading some trade contract, probably. "Now, where's Rio-san?"

My father takes a sip of tea. I wait for him to speak; he always, without fail, says something after having some of his drink.

"There was an incident in the village last night. Which I'm sure you're well aware of, according to Yura-san," he casts a stern look in my direction. So the ninja's name is Yura, huh? An impressive one, if my father addresses him so respectfully. Even if he is a snitch. "After you left the house by yourself so carelessly, Rio went out to look for you."

One guess as to where this story's going.

"She, along with 12 other civilians, died during the jinchuriki's rampage."

 **.**

 **.**

 **.**

I'd like to say I don't feel bad about Rio's death. I'd equally like to say that I'm utterly devastated by it. But it's not either of those extremes - instead, I'm stuck somewhere in the nebulous middle of the spectrum, caught in the grey area where I feel guilty about causing her death, but not guilty enough, which makes me feel more guilty, which makes me think I'm feeling too guilty because it wasn't _really_ my fault, so then I feel less guilty, which, well, just restarts the cycle. It's an irritating state of being.

I spend the rest of the day moping around my bedroom, partly out of real grief, partly out of the oppressive feeling that I am obligated to be depressed after my mother-figure of sorts died. I don't feel like I deserve to be out and about and going on with my life. Not when Rio's dead, and it's ostensibly my fault.

But I don't want to be all sad and shit. Sadness is for pussies. But I _have_ to be sad, or I'm a bad person. I can't tell which of my emotions are attributed to a sense of duty as a somewhat moral person, and which have risen from genuine mourning.

I turn, flopping face-down on my bed. I wonder if my parents are ever going to come in and comfort me, or even offer a stiff word of condolence. After my father broke the news, he'd just said, "Her funeral arrangements are being made. I expect you to take responsibility and attend the ceremony." Asshole. I'm 5. Don't I get, like, a hug?

And now I feel shitty for wanting a hug. I'm practically an adult; I don't need the loving touch of a parent like a regular kid. God knows Rio will never get to feel loved again … because she's dead. Because I fucked up. I should've been nicer to her while she was alive.

Damn it. This sucks.

More than a week passes in a dull haze of guilt and regret. I can't say that I'm really honoring Rio's memory, even when I dress in all black and light incense and suffer through the heat in the mourning period. All the traditional rites I perform seem lackluster, insincere. Meaningless. Even Rio's funeral is an unsatisfying affair. My parents don't bother attending, which pisses me off more than a little bit, and it seems like Rio only had one living family member: her brother, who seems overall detached from her life (and death).

It's pathetic, really. That a bratty 5-year-old was the only one she had real ties to, and he's the one that got her killed.

After the funeral, I take a walk around the city to clear my head. It's my first time venturing outside the house since her death. As time stretches on, the weight of Rio's tragic end slips my mind, and I observe that Suna looks better than usual. Friendlier, ironically enough, considering there's a virtually invulnerable murderer running loose. It's just that I'm filled with gratitude that I'm alive, I suppose; the world seems a little brighter. It's a bit like the feeling I had when I realized I'd been reincarnated. Thrill at the smallest joys.

Of course, I'm sure this bout of positivity will fade soon enough. Rio's dead, after all. I don't deserve this kind of happiness. And there goes my good mood.

"Hey kid. Haven't you learned not to walk around the city alone?"

Looks like mystery ninja is back. What was his name again? I honestly can't recall.

"Haven't you learned to not creep on little boys?" I snap.

He doesn't respond, but continues walking alongside me.

I stop in my tracks and scowl at him. "Didn't you hear what I just said? Go away."

"There's no point in wallowing."

"Thanks, genius. Like I didn't know that." I try to stomp on his toes, because I'm 5 and can get away with immaturity. He shifts his foot. "Be a little more condescending, will you?"

I stomp off. He follows, clearly not getting the message to leave me the hell alone. We travel in silence for a while, me fuming. I'd like to think he's not saying anything out of respect for my wishes, or he's frantically trying to think of something intelligent to say, but the dude is probably just waiting for me to calm the fuck down.

Smart guy. He waits about five minutes before opening his mouth again. Sure enough, I feel a little less irritated than before.

"If you want to make things right, you have to try. Don't you feel a responsibility to do so, after what you caused?" the man says finally.

Fucking Christ. "That's a heavy thing to say to a child."

"That's the world we live in. That's the life your family will inevitably require of you. There is no time for childhood — and you aren't meant to be child."

Wow. Hit the nail on the head with that one.

"You people love the child soldier thing, huh? I hope you realize that's very immoral."

"Morality is irrelevant in this realm. As long as you achieve your end goal, any path is accepted. That's the reality of being a ninja. That's the reality of ever being born."

"You must say this to all the boys."

"I don't."

Suddenly, he stops me, gripping my shoulder and twisting me around so that I look him in the eye. "Believe that you can fix things, and do it. You will achieve your end goal."

I stare, a bit stunned. "Why … why _are_ you saying all this to me? Do you know something that makes me special?" Like the fact that I'm actually a legal adult?

"You have potential. And the more time you spend being passive, the more of it you lose. I don't like to see potential go to waste."

He has a point. A good point. Moping like a little bitch isn't going to get me anywhere or fix anything. After all, hadn't I planned to become a badass ninja? Hadn't I promised to fix Gaara's seal? Aren't I still going to do so?

"Shinobi-san. You're right." Not gonna lie; I have to force the words out. But I do say them. "And if you don't want to see my potential wasted, then train me."

His expression, normally so stoic, changes ever-so-slightly. I can't pin it down though.

"You don't even know my rank," he points out. "I could be completely unqualified."

"Probably not, though. My father definitely referred to you with the suffix '-san.'" I remember that very well, at least. "He isn't a man whose respect is easy to gain, so you must have either accomplished something significant as a chunin or be jounin rank. And considering your age, it seems more likely you'd be a jounin. Also, you were a bit too level-headed when looking a jinchuriki in the eye. You must be experienced," I conclude.

The man almost seems impressed.

"Of course, this is all just assumptions. But am I wrong?" I smile sweetly. "Are you, in actuality, a terrible ninja?"

He smirks. It's the first real expression I've ever seen on him.

"I'll speak with your father about teaching you. Go home now, kid."

"One thing before you leave, shinobi-san."

"What is it?"

"This a bit awkward, but … what's your name?"

 **.**

 **.**

 **.**

Miyamoto Yura. My new teacher, I'm informed by my father later that day, will meet me every other morning at 7:30 a.m. in our private training ground. It's a ways off from our house, accessible by a narrow path that connects to the backyard. Yura will provide a curriculum as he sees fit, though its core will be reviewed by my father.

Another thing, my father says, is that Chiyo will be coming over for dinner in a few days. I should impress her if I'm to convince her to take me on as a fuinjutsu student.

I have to do well and start learning fuinjutsu. Hypothetically, I could study on my own, but the process would take far longer. And I want immediate results; I don't want the citizens of Suna to be constantly terrorized by a demon, and I don't want to feel guilty about Rio and not helping Gaara. I'm the only one in this place that could potentially fix Gaara's seal, since it's clear from the anime that no one in Suna was ever capable. So I, Suzuki Kazuo, am taking up the fucking mantle.

Watch out, Shukaku. I'm coming for you.


	4. iv

AN: idk what im doing. sorry for semi shoddy writing; i can't really be fucked to edit things thoroughly LOL

* * *

iv.

" _What can I know? What ought I to do? What can I hope?"_

 **.**

The next day I have free because Yura is outlining a training system. I use it to visit the Memorial Wall, which extends across the eastern border of Suna, for the first time. Rio's name is carved there alongside thousands of others. Ninja villages don't have actual graveyards; too many people die or go missing for that.

It's morbid, looking up at the huge stone wall. It's even worse to see the empty space and know that one day, I'll be on there. A shitty carving will be all that's left.

Hopefully not anytime soon, though.

I'm up bright and early the day after to eat breakfast, making sure there's time to digest before I head to the training ground. Is it a bit absurd that we have a private ground? Yes. I think my mother built it for my father as a wedding gift. Which, frankly, makes it even more absurd. But I guess it's the same thing my previous home having a personal tennis court.

The rich stay rich, apparently. Even in the next life.

When I arrive at the site, Yura isn't there yet. I figure I might as well start stretching, get my body limber in case he gives me a physical test first thing. So I run through my 20-minute stretching routine, expecting to be interrupted by his arrival.

30 minutes later, I'm standing in the middle of the sandy wasteland, still alone.

Man, where is this asshole? It seems unlikely that he'd arrive late; I seriously doubt he's that type of person, him being so stoic and whatnot. Unless he was sent on a last minute mission? No, my father would have sent someone to inform me if that was the case. He hates it when people waste time.

Maybe Yura is observing me, watching to see how I'll react to his ostensible tardiness. I peer around the area suspiciously. There seems to be very little he could hide behind, considering the ground is literally an space of compact, stone ground and the occasional rock. It also features a dummy, but that's definitely too small for concealment.

Hm. I go up to examine the dummy, thinking maybe he's transformed himself into it. But poking and kicking it yields no reaction, so I give in and go back to scanning my surroundings. Now that I'm actively searching for something weird, I do feel as if everything is a little off. For instance, the sun is too high in the sky for 8:00 a.m. and this training ground is, frankly, a bit too large. The other residences are far in the distance. My family can't possibly own _all_ this space. And for that matter, how did I even get here in the first place? It's supposedly connected to my house by a narrow path, but I don't see any evidence of that.

Oh, duh. Genjutsu. How long have I been trapped in this?

I rack my mind for a memory of how to dispel illusions in the anime. I remember that you have to yell "kai," but I don't recall the hand seal or what any of that means. Do you just … channel chakra into your environment? I can't see how that would work. Or perhaps the illusion affects your mind or your eyes, or you have to concentrate chakra differently depending upon which of the five senses it affects. I seriously have zero idea, and I'd rather not accidentally fry my brain with chakra.

Ugh. Does Yura actually expect a 5-year-old to know this shit?

...Probably not.

"Yo, Yura-sensei, I have no clue how to get out of this. Can you help a brother out?" I say hopefully. Yeah, maybe I shouldn't use modern slang so much. It's a hard habit to drop, though.

A few moments later, the world shifts and slides away. Immediately, the oppressive feeling of wrongness vanishes. I'm now standing on a similar ground, but a stone wall encloses the circular area. In front of me is an exit to the path that leads out of the training ground and, presumably, into my backyard. The sun is far lower in the sky, which is washed a gentle blue hue. This makes far more sense.

"You were under the illusion for exactly 33 minutes," Yura says from behind me.

I turn to face him; his expression, as usual, reveals nothing.

"I'm guessing that's bad."

"A shinobi must always be aware of his surroundings and any changes to them. Even the most minor detail could give away a genjutsu." Yura nods slightly. "I provided you several large errors."

I pout. "Everybody makes mistakes."

"Shinobi do not. One mistake is the difference between life and death," Yura says coldly. "You should know this well. Was it not your mistake the other night that led to the death of an innocent woman?"

Low fucking blow, Yura. I'm well-aware it was mostly my fault, but nobody likes to be constantly reminded of their fuck-ups and we already went over this two days ago. Also, I'm 5. What the hell is wrong with him?

"Fuck you, cocksucker," I spit in English.

"What was that — a secret code?"

In response, I flip him off. Virtually before I can blink, he's in front of me, bending my wrist almost to the breaking point. I cry out in pain and shock.

"No disrespect will be tolerated," Yura says monotonously. The lack of inflection is perhaps even more threatening than his previously frigid tone. "Understood?"

"Yes, yes, understood. Sensei," I agree hastily. He releases my wrist, and I delicately cradle it against my chest.

Jesus fucking Christ. Ninjas have no chill.

"Now, let's begin with a brief physical evaluation…"

I have a long day ahead, don't I?

 **.**

 **.**

 **.**

Yura is a strict, ruthless instructor. I'm almost certain some of the things he makes me do would be counted as a minor war crime, considering he's doing it to a child. Seriously - the dude tested my pain tolerance through use of hot sand and bare skin, an exercise I'm apparently supposed to repeat every day by meditating on the 140-degree sandy ground for as long as I possibly can. What the hell, man. Why.

After forcing me to inflict first degree burns upon myself, we run endurance exercises. Then cardio, then strength, then flexibility. This all means that when we make it to chakra control and manipulation, I've done about two weeks worth of physical training and am about to collapse.

"Before we begin our next lessons, we'll have lunch." Yura body flickers away, then reappears moments later with two bowls. He sets them both on a nearby rock. "Dig in."

"Thank God," I groan, but I take a minute to even out my breathing fully before I begin eating.

The lunch break lasts a good half an hour, and then Yura dives into the lecture on chakra.

"Are you aware of something called 'chakra'?" he begins.

"Yes, but no. I don't really know anything about it, but I can do stuff with it."

"Demonstrate."

I find a few small rocks and individually stick them to my body, holding them with chakra.

"How long can you keep this up?"

I shrug, considering. "I can manage five for around three minutes if I only concentrate on this, and one for an indefinite period of time while doing some other very simple task. I get bored pretty quickly, though, so I haven't tried for much longer than 20 minutes."

Yura seems suitably impressed. "Anything else?"

"Yeah, uh…" I try to think of a way I can demonstrate super strength that isn't just throwing things far. Well, that one slug lady in the anime was pretty cool; she had Hulk-style destruction capabilities. I make a fist and channel chakra into the muscles in my arm, then concentrate chakra toward the front of my fist so a thick layer traces my knuckles. The amount of chakra isn't dense enough to be visible, but I can feel a definite thrum of power there. Alright. Game time.

As hard as I can, I slam my fist into the rock that had doubled as a makeshift table. A huge shock of pain jolts my hand and wrist as it makes contact with the horrifically solid stone, and I cry out in agony. But before I can get ahead of myself and start writhing on the ground, the chakra gathered in my fist dispels forward into the rock - and utterly obliterates it. Bits of stone rocket in all directions, one nicking me in the arm, and a dust cloud gathers from the sheer force released.

I stare in awe. Holy fuck. I just destroyed, like, a boulder! In proportion to my body size, anyway.

"Ah," Yura says, apparently speechless. Same dude. Same. Well, not really. I am still very much capable of speech.

"Oh my god! That was awesome. I am _awesome_. I am," my shattered hand twinges, "in a lot of pain, oh my god, help, Yura-sensei, help."

Yura ends up rushing me to the hospital so I can get emergency care for my hand. The medic-nin, as he mends my wrist with a vibrant green energy, informs that I am _incredibly_ stupid for, apparently, punching a wall at full-chakra enhanced force without also shielding my entire arm from the impact. Oops. I'm sent off with a bandaged wrist and strict rules to not use the arm for the next week, just to be safe. Double oops.

"What does this mean for our lessons?" I ask Yura as we're leaving the care unit. He's barely said a word since my injury.

"We'll continue as planned. This will be good practice for adapting to a debilitating injury sustained in battle, or otherwise," Yura says. "Furthermore, you don't need your arm to do some of the other exercises we'll go through."

"Right on." I actually am pretty glad that we can continue. There truly is no time to waste; every day I spend lazing around is another day my potential lessens, another day that might cause my death in the future.

"Could you explain the basics of chakra to me now?"

Yura glances down at me. "You don't know already?"

"No. Didn't I tell you that earlier?"

"After your demonstration, I assumed you were being modest."

I snort. "Modesty is for chumps. I know I'm great; why hide it?"

Yura cuffs me on the ear. Asshole. "That is no attitude for a shinobi." He shakes his head. "In any case, it's impressive that you have enough control to do what you just did. Where did you get the idea?"

"Uh," would it be feasible that I know about slug lady? Probably, "I read about some woman with super strength in a history book, and I thought, 'hey, that's cool.' Honestly, just now was the first time I tried destroying something. It was just muscle strength before."

"...Hm," Yura says. And then doesn't make another sound.

I wait an impatient minute. "So, chakra basics?"

"Ah, yes." Yura clears his throat. "Chakra is the energy that powers shinobi abilities and the human body, as well as some of the natural forces of the world. It flows through the body in tenketsu, similar to the veins that carry blood, though the majority of it is concentrated in the core, located in the abdominal area. Without chakra, your body cannot function, so shinobi must be careful not to exhaust their reserves. This is why chakra control is so important. Spending an excessive amount of chakra on a pursuit will quickly deplete one's reserves, but not spending enough will result in a failed technique."

"How do you know how much chakra is enough in the first place?" I interject.

"There are some guidelines: Powerful techniques will obviously require more chakra, and vice versa. More often than not, it's a matter of trial and error. Finding the precise amount of chakra necessary for a technique by practicing it a number of times. For instance, when you performed the rock exercise, you must have gone through numerous attempts before succeeding, correct?"

"Yeah." I did have to adjust the amount of energy I concentrated to each area, until I stumbled upon the proper balance. Ugh, I have to do that for every technique? How irritating.

"Kazuo, tell me: how did you first channel chakra?"

"Well, about a year ago, I just noticed the energy in my body. And then I just played with it. It's pretty easy to get it to do things, or at least focus it to different places on my body." It also helps that I have a relatively good understanding of muscles from lifting so much in my past life, and that one anatomy class I was taking senior year.

"It seems you're a natural, then, when it comes to chakra control and manipulation," Yura remarks. "That will make things much easier for you. Don't let your aptitude go to waste."

"Wasn't planning on it." Dude is crazy if he thinks I'm not going to take full advantage of my supremely unfair upper hand. "So, anything else I should know?"

"Be careful not to strain your chakra coils too much. If you exhaust yourself at such an early age, it may cause permanent damage."

Yikes. "How will I know if I'm near 'exhaustion?'"

"A fatigue will come over you. Perhaps lightheadedness and nausea. If you feel any of those symptoms, stop channeling chakra immediately."

"Got it." I pause. "So, I guess now would be a good time to tell you - I'm about to throw up."

And then I do.

 **.**

 **.**

 **.**

It's not full-on chakra exhaustion; the medic-nin likely would've detected that. But my reserves were low enough from the overpowered punch that I am to be bedridden for the next two days, so Yura provides me with a text to read in place of training: _The Fundamentals of Chakra._

It describes the theory of channeling chakra, control, and its various applications, like ninjutsu, genjutsu, fuinjutsu, etc. It also explains that chakra can take on elemental properties, and some people's chakra can more naturally gain certain elemental attributes as opposed to others. Otherwise, the effects of chakra are mainly based on a person's will; adhesion, strength, protection are some of the properties one can easily will chakra to adapt. Sealing and healing are apparently whole different realms, and the text barely touches on them. This confirms the necessity of snagging Chiyo as a fuinjutsu teacher. There's no way I can learn sealing on my own - not only is the theory complex, but it's incredibly dangerous to blindly experiment with seals.

I finish the book in one day. It's an interesting read, and despite my rough understanding of Japanese, my advanced mental age gives me reading comprehension abilities far above those of a normal 5-year-old (at least, I would hope). So I spend the second day brainstorming jutsu I want to learn, or create if it doesn't exist. I scribble the list down in English on a piece of paper, and soon I have a page full of ideas. Here, I'll provide an excerpt:

 _Cool Shit to Do_

 _-water dragon thing_

 _-wind bullet thing_

 _-giant fireball!_

 _-prob should find out elemental affinity first, actually_

 _-hulk/slug lady smash_

 _-lsd genjutsu. yes._

My favorite idea is probably the LSD genjutsu; I seriously doubt anyone has invented acid in this universe, which means no one will have felt the effects of such a drug before. And being hit by its effects out of the blue would be absolutely _terrifying_. Even if an enemy realized it was genjutsu, the entire "having the fabric of reality ripped from underneath your feet" thing is likely traumatic to experience. It'd definitely trip them up. Hah.

The third day, I'm well enough to be allowed out of bed and take my meals downstairs. I refused my parent's offer to hire a new caretaker, arguing that a shinobi must be independent (honestly, I just don't want to replace Rio), so instead they got a personal cook, who's been bringing me my meals. While it was nice to not have to move from my bed, it was also excruciatingly boring. I was seriously going stir crazy, and I'm glad I can finally be released into the world again.

As I pass through the kitchen on my way to meet Yura, I run into my father. I'm fully prepared to ignore him and be ignored back, as usual, but he stops me by announcing, "Chiyo-dono and Ebizo-dono will be joining us for dinner tonight at 7 p.m. Yura-san, too. Make sure to impress."

"Of course, Father," I say.

Surprisingly, the conversation doesn't end there. My father continues, "Yura-san spoke with me about your emulation of the Slug Sannin's technique. I expect ample progress on that front by the end of the month."

I grin, sharklike. "Naturally."

For the first time in both lives, my father looks at me with the tiniest glint of approval.

It feels … good.

But definitely not as good as obliterating a huge rock with one punch. Fuck yeah, dude. _That's_ true happiness.

 **.**

 **.**

 **.**

For dinner that night, I dress in traditional Suna garb, which bears similarity to Arabian clothing: a plain white robe and headpiece, for instance, are included in my outfit. I'm instructed by my father to wait near the door for our guests' arrival and then welcome them into our home. So I go downstairs at 6:30, just in case anyone is early, while practically drooling at the wonderful aromas drifting from the kitchen. It's a painfully boring 20 minutes before Yura knocks on the door.

"Welcome, Yura-sensei," I say.

"Good to see you haven't caused any more damage to yourself in the past two hours," he replies, totally monotone. I'm sure he's laughing it up at my idiocy on the inside, though.

"My parents are waiting in the dining room," I say, suppressing a rude remark. "Drinks and appetizers are available."

"I like it when you're forced to be polite."

He leaves, and I mutter English insults at his back.

"What was that?" Yura calls from the other room.

"Nothing, sensei," I say quickly. "Nothing at all."

I wait anxiously for Chiyo and Ebizo to arrive. It's exciting; these two will be the first canon characters I come across, with the exception of a murderous young Gaara. I can't say I really recall Ebizo's role in the anime, but I have faint memories of Chiyo resurrecting Gaara and fighting Sasori. Oh yeah, isn't she also a puppet master? That's relatively cool. I don't have much interest in controlling puppets, though. It seems like a pussy way to fight, unless you're Sasori and actually turn yourself into a puppet. Now that's hardcore.

A knock at the door. It's time.

I plaster a winning smile on my face and swing upon the heavy wooden door. "Welcome, Chiyo-sama and Ebizo-sama."

In front of me stand two elderly folk, liver-spotted and robed. The man is literally the oldest-looking dude I have ever seen; the way his eyes sink so deeply into his skull makes him strongly resemble a shrunken head. His white eyebrows hang loosely along the sides of his wrinkled face, and his mouth droops in a sad frown.

The woman seems more alive. Her eyes, though surrounded by heavy bags and crow's feet, are piercing, stern. The thin line of her cracked lips seems purposefully disapproving rather than helplessly rendered so by gravity, like her brother. She is, above all, intimidating.

"I am Suzuki Kazuo, eldest son of Suzuki Goza and Inagawa Saigo. It's an honor to meet you. Please, come in." I bow gracefully. See that? I'm great at being a professional suck-up. It's a skill I needed to convince teachers to round up my grades.

"Is it now? How flattering," Chiyo says. "Look at this, Ebizo. He's so polite. Adorable. Like the tiny koi we found in June."

I straighten and am surprised to find her demeanor is entirely changed. She's cheerful, smiling goofily at her brother. I'm nearly convinced of the "silly old lady" act. Nearly.

"Yes, very polite," croaks Ebizo in a dull tone. "Let's go in, now. Show us to dinner, won't you?"

"Right, of course. Follow me." They both step inside, and I close the door behind us before leading them to the dining room.

Yura and my parents are already seated, each with a glass of white wine. Several platters of raw meats, rice and vegetables are displayed on the table.

Everyone stands to greet the siblings, and my parents exchange brief pleasantries. I sit next to Yura, who offers me a reassuring pat on the back. Or maybe it was an indication that I should sit up straighter.

"It's been a long time, Chiyo-dono, Ebizo-dono. The council does miss your wisdom." Wow, this is the nicest thing I've ever heard my father say, hands down. These two must be like angels of Suna or something.

"Eh, they aren't missing much. We've gone senile in our old age. Especially Ebizo here," Chiyo says, smiling. She claps her brother on the shoulder.

"Speak for yourself, sister," Ebizo says.

"I am," Chiyo cackles.

"I'm sure you still would have plenty of guidance to give," says my mother diplomatically. "I've heard the two of you have spent the past years in nature, meditating to find tranquility."

Ebizo and Chiyo exchange glances.

"You could say that," Ebizo says neutrally.

"Or not," Chiyo adds. "Mostly, we fish. I caught a good one just last week…" With that, she launches into a long tale of her fishing escapades. Apparently, they've travelled to many lands in search of good fishing spots, including a precarious journey to the Land of Water. It would be an interesting story were it not centered around fishing, and I tune her out by the fourth minute. Honestly, I'm fairly certain this is all an act. My memories of her anime self paint her as a serious, powerful woman, and I don't know who she thinks she's fooling. My father, mother and Yura probably all know better. In any case, she doesn't end her story until the main course arrives, and before I can begin happily stuffing food down my throat, Chiyo turns her attention to me.

"So, Kazuo, you're the reason your father used his favor to call us here. Or rather, called me here. Why is that?" Her tone is light, falsely so.

"I hope to learn the art of fuinjutsu from you, Chiyo-sama," I say. "I would be incredibly honored if you took me on as your student."

"Fuinjutsu?" Chiyo narrows her eyes at me. Her expression becomes sharp once more. "What compels you toward that unfortunate subject?"

Well, no sense in beating around the bush.

"To be honest, I only have one goal in mind," I declare. "I'm going to fix the jinchuriki's seal."

The room falls silent. Even my father, fork halfway to his mouth, freezes, since I hadn't actually told him my reason for wanting to study seals. It seems like the temperature drops several degrees.

"Oh?" Chiyo's tone is cold. Dangerous. "That's a lofty goal. Unthinkable, one might say, for a mere child to accomplish. It's not something to be said lightly."

"I'm well aware. But as it is now, no one has stepped up to try, even though Gaara poses a huge threat to the village. For the safety of Suna and its citizens, the seal must be corrected. Plus, Gaara is just a kid, like me. I have a moral responsibility to help him; I want to help him. So please, Chiyo-sama, take me on as your student. I won't fail." I stare straight into her eyes, trying to convey the strength of my conviction. I, personally, think it was a great speech. Especially for a 5-year-old. No wonder people think I'm a "genius."

Chiyo is quiet, considering.

"Chiyo-dono, I apologize for my son's presumption," my father begins to say.

"Do not apologize," Ebizo cuts in. "His character is quite admirable. Don't you think, sister? It seems like the younger generation truly is stepping up. And perhaps it is, indeed, our moral responsibility to help them."

"Perhaps, brother," Chiyo says. "But character is not always enough."

"With all due respect, Chiyo-sama, I can attest to Kazuo's prodigal abilities," Yura says. "Although he is sometimes impudent, his intellect and willpower are both exaggerated to nearly implausible levels. Furthermore, he demonstrates a natural aptitude toward chakra control and manipulation. Just a few days ago, he managed to recreate Senju Tsunade's destructive techniques entirely on his own, after reading briefly about their existence in a book."

Wow, any more and my head is going to swell like a balloon. Thanks, Yura. You're not a total dickface all the time, after all.

"The slug princess," Chiyo mutters resentfully. "Hah. We'll see how she likes it when she finds out a little boy knows her tricks." Suddenly, she slams the table, causing the plates to rattle against the stone. "That's it. I've decided. Boy, I'll take you on as my student. But beware: I'm the one who sealed Shukaku into Gaara in the first place, who signed off on his fate. To this day, it is one of my greatest mistakes. In order to rectify it, you'll have to surpass me. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Chiyo-sama. I'll be able to do it, I swear." Fuck yeah. I fucking got it.

"Three years," Chiyo says.

"What?"

"Three years," she repeats. "You have three years to learn everything I know, and then the rest is up to you."

Three years? Are you shitting me? That may sound like a long time, but it really isn't. Hell, it took me two years to get through pre-calc.

"Right," I say as confidently as I possibly can. "Three years. When do we start?"

Three years to learn sealing. And then I'm on my own. Ah, fuck. Why did I make fixing Gaara my goal? I'm so screwed.


End file.
